Campari for Breakfast (26 page)

She drew blood from my scalp with a deep scrape of her comb. ‘Sorry,’ she said, before whispering, ‘I’ll need to buy a new one …’

Then she backcombed my hair savagely, and wedged it out at the sides like giant wings. I did not dare to try and flatten it, I was too afraid of the consequences.

The total ransom from Loudolle’s various demands now wratches up to a £50 tariff, and as I was sitting there I realised a new problem: I don’t care so much if Icarus knows about the eye, I’ve had months to come to terms with it, but I
do
care if he knows I’ve been
paying
for him not to know. But at least Loudolle is going back in a week, so I will be able to catch up fiscally after she returns to Alpen to learn how to arrange cakes, or whatever she does when she is there. But oh, how dishonest is nature to package such a rotten fruit in such a pretty casing! It is one of the most deceitful habits of all creation.

Icarus was such a dream, and they can be difficult to let go of, every bit as difficult as trying to let go of my Mum. But that is what I need to do – let them go. Mum to her Heavenly home and Icarus to his Earthly one. But I know now that it doesn’t happen in a nanasecond, but little by little over time, with no short cuts, and this is a natural consequence of being alive – unless you are a recluse and live your life without the consequences of knowing anybody.

I wonder if I fell so badly for Icarus because I was starving for love. If I hadn’t been so starving, I probably wouldn’t have even looked at him. It was the starvation that needed attention. I needed to find other food.

But in the meantime I still felt an urgency to prevent him from knowing how starving I’d been, so I found myself in the dreadful position of having to ask Aunt Coral for a loan. We sat woman-to-woman in the drawing room, she in lavender hell and me with my bleeding stumps, and it all came out. I had no choice but to confide in her, it was the only way to survive.

‘She’s a nasty piece of work,’ said Aunt Coral, before salvaging. ‘But never mind, I think it is an enviably romantic thing, to yearn over the young man’s eye, and nothing to be ashamed of. It means that you are capable of deep love and passion, and that is a gift and a wonder. I’ll ask the Admiral if he can lend me £50 and then you can pay me back once you’ve saved up. But I’d tell Icarus about it soon, and then she won’t have anything over you. And there’ll be plenty of other Icaruses. They just don’t know you’re on the loose yet.’

She made it sound like there were hundreds of others just waiting to be informed I was free, and that when they were, all hell would break loose and I would be inundated with appointments.

‘That’s impossible,’ I said.

‘Nothing’s impossible,’ said Aunt C. ‘They gave medals to pigeons for bravery in the war you know.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘No I’m not – the Dickin Medal goes to animals that have been brave, and during the last war it went to pigeons who had been spies. I always remember that when I think that something’s impossible,’ she said. Having come through the war, Aunt Coral’s got different perspectives.

Then she added, before leaving in search of Mrs Bunion: ‘If you think too much about Icarus you will miss the rest of life going on round you. Try and think about something else, and I promise it will get easier.’

She was like a gentle tide that stroked my eroded shore. That is one of the joys of talking with someone who has lived for a long time – you know that they will have done much more embarrassing things than you, and got over them, and lived long enough not to be embarrassed about them any more.

Loudolle’s plan to execute my hair worked well, for at the Banquet Tornegus looked unsettled and kept staring at it, trying to see past my wings. He wasn’t the dream like Icarus, but I knew I must try and be kind.

‘Thank you for the chocolates,’ I said, with a wink to keep him guessing.

Nigel from the
Herald
read us his review with our starters, which is to be four stars in this week’s issue! The excitement levels were high. Delia said she was going to explore the concept of a fashion show, with Georgette, Print and Taffeta to model. And Aunt Coral was considering therapy EHGs, for there was money to be made in despair, and the Admirals were in talks over romance, which they hope to take into consultancy.

So, contrary to preconceptions, it looked as though quite a lot could be achieved by two old ladies, three Admirals, one cleaner, one waitress-cum-author and an Egham mansion with sixteen bedrooms and rotten timbers. The fact that we made a loss on the fiscal side was small beans compared to the possibilities.

Unfortunately the day did not end at that high point.

‘Did you take the fifty pounds from my bag?’ said Aunt Coral a while later, over the coffee and petty fours.

‘No!’ I said. ‘Of course not! I wouldn’t. I didn’t. Of course not!’

‘Well, it’s gone,’ she said. She left it hanging there and it was urgent to convince her, so we went into the conservatory to discuss the matter further.

‘Please believe me, I would never go into your handbag, I know that your handbag’s your cave.’

‘Yes, of course – of course you wouldn’t. I’m going to call a meeting.’

The Green Place residents were quickly gathered in the conservatory and Aunt Coral did not beat around the bush before stating her business.

‘We have a magpie in our midst,’ she said. ‘I am missing fifty pounds from my wallet.’

An invisible camera rolled around the room, zooming in on the three Admirals, Delia, Mrs Bunion, myself, and Loudolle. Nobody spoke for several seconds, and then the menace began.

‘I saw Sue go into your bag, Aunt Coral,’ said Loudolle.

‘It’s not true!’ I said. ‘She’s lying, she’s always lying.’

‘Please leave us,’ said Aunt Coral, and the others left the room, exploding with opinions.

‘I got you that money from the Admiral, Sue, I was going to give it to you, you had no need to take it. Tell me the truth, and I won’t judge you.’

‘But I didn’t take it, Aunt Coral; you’ve got to believe me.’

‘I’ll be in my room. I need to think.’

She tottered out with her head at an angle, for she was in deep contemplation. I wanted to run after her and wrap myself round her legs to prevent her from going, to prevent her from thinking badly of me, to make her know for sure. Instead I sank into the chair by the window and watched the rain pour like a million angry needles from a black and tarry sky.

This is Loudolle’s finest achievement to date, driving a wedgie between me and Aunt Coral.

But what no one has suggested is, what if it was the tramp?

Brackencliffe

After Van Day had departed, and idle dancing was done for the day, Pretafer learnt of the maidens’ escape, and ceased to be in good hu mour. She was so full of vengeance and spite, that she fell ill with the fever, and she lay bedriddled with a pox on her skin, and the Spinster fell on her knees in the chapel to pray for the Missie’s pitted face.

But just when they thought they had lost her, Pretafer Gibbon rallied. Yet when her cure was achieved, her face was so scarred by blisters that she needs must wear a box on her head to prevent her from a-fearing the children.

Bemeantimes, Cara was fast becoming the most beautiful girl in the land. She had tarried with loyal Fiona and Keeper in the Pasture of Sage and Parsley and they fashioned a humble dwelling in a rickety shepherd’s hut under the sky. And here they passed their days at the hearth, in peace, if in a little hunger.

‘Whyfore will you not let me look in the locket?’ said Fiona. ‘Whofore is inside it? ’Tis some handsome cousin, some Master at Arms?’

‘’Tis my Mother,’ said Cara, ‘lest I forget her image.’

Coral’s Commonplace: Volume 3

Green Place, June 16 1947
(Age 25)

Excerpt from the paper, June 2 1947,
Egham Echo
‘Births Marriages and Deaths’:

I have not been able to do anything for the past two weeks. My pen is too heavy, and my legs give way if I try to get up. But there are no answers up there on the ceiling, nor any under the sky.

I’d only just got back to Oxford from my visit to see the new baby when I got the call.

‘You must come back home again,’ Father said. ‘It’s Cameo.’

‘Is she all right?’ I said.

And he just said, ‘No.’

I left everything upside down and came running, but I was too late. That’s what Father meant when he said ‘no’, but he couldn’t say it. He couldn’t say those three words. I only just arrived in time to see her dear face once more before she was taken away. She was pale and beautiful and still at the end, and so very cold.

Her death was sudden and without symptoms or warning, and Dr John believes it was caused by an aneurysm in her brain. He believes that it might have been there ever since her eye accident, that it was only a matter of time. I haven’t even considered the effects of her accident since she was tiny. It happened when she was five, I thought she was totally healed. But he explained that a clot from a head injury, even if it happened at birth, can sit like a ticking time bomb, and there is no way to detect its presence until it’s too late.

Surely this hasn’t happened? Surely I’m going to wake up? It seems five seconds since we were kids in the Eastern Tree House. She was only here long enough for a quick kick in the leaves.

We have known Dr John all our lives; it would be an insult to question his diagnosis. Father doesn’t want Mother more upset and anyway, nothing will bring Cameo back. But are they sure that someone didn’t break in and murder her? That she wasn’t poisoned by a lunatic? No one will listen to me, they say my ramblings are pure shock and grief.

How can I not have known that something like this would happen to her? If I’d have had any inkling, I’d have wrapped her up and never let her out of my sight. I feel so foolish for not being, somehow, prepared.

All my life I’ve interpreted myself around Cameo. Who am I without her? Who shall I be now that I have no reflection? I feel like an elastic catapult shot forever from its base.

Out in the woods I can hear a bell ringing, and my first thought was that it was Cameo trying to ward off the snakes, but then I remembered. Today, it must be a stranger on a bicycle passing somewhere nearby.

Sue

Friday September 25

E
MERGENCY ARRANGEMENTS HAVE
been made in a hurry. The source of the problem according to Glenn Miller’s report is dry rot and galloping woodworm. Floors must be lifted and the house injected ASAP to contain the outbreak of building-eating fungus. It’s only because Green Place is so big that there are still some parts left unaffected. I have offered to stay and oversee everything while the others abandon ship tomorrow. Aunt Coral goes to her friend Daphne, in Knightsbridge, Delia will visit Loudolle, and the Ad goes to his club. The other admirals are getting lodgings in London.

I’m not afraid of being alone in Green Place. If I see a spirit or a ghost, I will be more than happy, because it will be evidence of life after death, and therefore a hope for Mum. It was a year ago on Wednesday that we lost her. It still doesn’t seem real. Dad rang and spoke to Aunt Coral who passed on his message to me. He said he was there if I needed him. She suggested that Dad would be suffering too, and offered to relay a message to him, but I had none in my heart to give.

I didn’t want to make a big fuss over it, after all it isn’t something to celebrate, just a cross on the calendar that denotes the mad march of time. So I stayed up in my room reading and writing most of the day, and my housemates were very respectful.

I have heard that in the spiritual world, when you are thinking of someone you have lost and you see a white feather, it means that that person is trying to talk to you. There was a white feather on the floor on Wednesday, but perhaps it was because I remade my bed. But perhaps it
was
mum trying to talk to me.

I must go and fetch her key just as soon as Dad and Ivana are out of the way again. She did not want Dad to know about this, and I must honour her wishes.

But there is, of course, also the possibility of a living intruder staying secretly on the premises, but I have maintained that I am up to the challenge, which just shows you how much I do not want to go back to Titford.

Chivalrous as ever, Joe has offered to come and stay with me should the need arise, which is kind, as he has a warm bedroom to go to and Green Place is nothing but a home for spiders. I said no thank you, but it has made Aunt Coral much happier to know he is standing by.

Egham Hirsute Group

On Interpretation